Near Misses
by JustAFlick
Summary: Third installment in the Dreamwalker Series. Leia tries to hold it together while she falls in love. Han makes this exceedingly difficult. Set in the Never Will I Ever universe between A New Hope and The Empire Strike Back.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm. My only profit from writing this story was awakening the force within myself! Please review, fav, or follow if it speaks to you.

Note: This story directly follows No Looking Back and Waking Up. Sorry, it took so long. It's a bit of a different take on what might have been going through Leia's head in the time directly before Empire Strikes Back. Remember, in the Never Will I Ever Universe, our Leia infiltrates people's *cough, Han's* dreams and has force abilities that are just under the surface, begging to burst forth. Because of this, she's a tad further along in her feelings for a certain spacer than one might expect...

* * *

Han is teaching me how to use a micro-fuser. You see, my favorite new hobby is finding excuses to be near him. Where before I tried to avoid him or ignore him or at the very least insult him, now I can't get close enough.

Literally can't.

If it wasn't for the constant slow burn behind his eyes, I would think the man wanted nothing to do with me. The last couple months have been a constant game of cat and mouse, only with me as the frisky feline. If someone had told me I would be chasing after this man two years ago, I would never have believed them.

The very thought makes me blush, but I know it's true. After Florn, everything changed again. Suddenly the worries that had held me back for so long seemed silly, superfluous in the wake of my recovery. I want Han. Han wants me. Nothing could seem more simple and more obvious.

Except nothing is ever simple when it comes to this particular man. Or maybe it's just my own feelings that make it all so confusing.

Yes, I'm chasing him. But I want him to chase me. I want him to make a move.

To make me his.

I have never felt this way about anyone. Everything before Han seems so innocent, so tame. Now that I am no longer fighting it, my desire has only grown. It's a wild thing that paces through my chest and waits for its moment to strike. Now seems to be such a moment.

He is bent over a toolbox, his too long hair falling into his eyes. I have never seen him with his hair this long, and I can't help but like it. I imagine running my hands through it and a tingling pleasure creeps up my arms just at the thought. But his hair is the least of it.

The cooling system on the Falcon is broken, necessitating this fix. He came into dinner complaining about it, grumbling that he'd have to do it himself since Chewie couldn't stand to be in the ship for longer than a minute at its current boiling temperature. Wookiee pelts can't be shed.

I saw my opportunity and grabbed for it, quickly volunteering to assist. Both Han and Luke looked at me askance, but I claimed I needed to brush up on my mechanical skills. A leader should always be well-rounded. They seemed to accept this. Enough to get me here.

I've had to get crafty like this lately because I don't want to be too obvious. Some still-reserved part of me can't abide that. But, I also want to give him every opportunity to see that I've changed, that I can own up to what I feel for him and take a chance.

What do you feel for him, Organa?

Right now, it could be classified as pure, unbridled lust. After an hour of working in this stifling heat, he finally pulled his sweat soaked shirt over his head and threw it to the side. It's the first time I've ever seen him shirtless and...

Holy Gods.

He is beautiful. The perfect balance of lean and muscled, covered with an inexplicable tan. As if some heavenly painter had glazed him in gold. Between space travel and base life, I doubt he has time to be in the sunlight much, so I imagine it's just him. He's just this irresistible.

He turns back to me and studiously avoids looking at my own scantily clad form, raising his eyes to my face.

"You ready?"

Gods yes.

I nod primly (to counterbalance my thoughts) and hop down from the box I've been sitting on. It's late at night, but both of us are night owls so we decided to get started. The exhaustion of the day and the end of a long week of tireless work is making me a bit loopy. I almost feel tipsy, a feeling I rarely experience these days. I have the sudden wistful longing for wine - something light and crisp - as I feel another blast of heat.

The space the system is situated in is tight and there's no way for him to show me what to do without us both squeezing in. I couldn't have planned a better set of circumstances. For a moment, I wonder if some lusty goddess is in my corner. Just in case, I send her a quick prayer of thanks.

Of course, after I have slipped in, the correct tool in hand, I start to get nervous. I want him so badly, but if I get him, I'm not sure what I'll do with him. I've kissed men. But that's all. I'm almost twenty-two years old. In my old life I'd have been married by now. Even with my political career, I know this to be true. It was expected of me and, in some ways, I wanted it. Being royal and a public figure is a lonely life. Deep down, I longed for someone I could trust, someone I could...

He's behind me now and my heart is pulsing against my ribs, making my breath come in shallow little sips. It doesn't help that it's even hotter in here. Sweat trickles from my hair, down my neck and I can feel it accumulate in places I wish it wouldn't.

Han is silent for a moment. I close my eyes, wishing I could know what was going through his mind. He reaches an arm around me and guides my hand up to the first spot I'm supposed to fuse. At the touch of his hand on my wrist, I feel the desire roar forward.

What if I leaned back into him? What if I turned around and kissed him? Then what?

Han takes a deep breath and finally speaks.

"Just press it lightly right there. You want to make sure this wire stays grounded, or you won't get a spark."

I decide to focus on the task. Guiding that little line of molten light seems so much more manageable than making sense of the three metims of solid masculinity behind me. There is something satisfying about taking two pieces of metal, solid, unyielding, never meant to fit together and melting them down until they join.

"Good," he breathes against my ear and I jump a little. I didn't know he was so close. He chuckles lightly and points to the next spot. I follow with the fuser, always the good student. We aren't touching, not really. Though I feel a sort of magnetic current buzzing along every place we could be. His hand fell away from my wrist as I filled in the first line, but he's left it resting against the panel, so his arm frames us from the outside. We've never been this close for this long unless you count the one dance we ever shared.

For a moment, I let my mind drift a little. I try not to do this, think too far into the future. I find the more I allow myself to want him, the more troubling it is to imagine. The sad endings haunt me, but the happy ones hurt me more. If I could have a life like the one in my dreams, then I might want this one. And that makes risking it so much harder. But in this moment, I forget to be careful. As I trace the next line, it's so easy to imagine that we're together, a couple, that the midnight scenes have become our reality. This could so easily be a domestic chore before we head to our home for the night, to our bed. He'd drop a kiss on my neck and suggest we fuse something else after we're done.

I can't help the little snort at my train of thought. That's exactly what he'd say.

"What?"

I shake my head, the snort turning into a giggle.

"Your lines going wonky, sweetheart," he puts his hand on mine again to still it and suddenly I'm the fuse, grounded and glowing.

"What is it?"

He pokes my waist with his other hand and finds a sensitive spot. A real laugh tumbles out of me, and he lets out a little growl. He dives for the spot again, running his fingers along it in a maddening skitter. I'm laughing uncontrollably now and gasping for breath.

"Didn't know princesses were ticklish. Thought you were too dignified for that."

I elbow him lightly in the ribs. He catches my arm before I can pull it back.

"I am human, you know," I say a little breathlessly.

His fingers grip my elbow, lightly but firmly. They flex once, twice.

"Could have fooled me."

I'm not sure what to make of this comment. We're both breathing a little heavily from the unexpected bit of fun. My head feels light and spins slightly on my shoulders. His hand is still on my elbow, and I notice his bracing arm is flush against mine as well. It would all be thrilling if it weren't so damn hot.

Well, it is hot. But it's also very, very hot.

Is any of this making sense?

Suddenly I sway a little. I don't go anywhere between his solid arms, but he grumbles in concern.

"You need to sit down for a bit? Take a break?"

I shake my head, both loathe to lose the contact and unwilling to seem weak. But my plan backfires because he slowly withdraws, leaving me feeling bereft, if a little cooler.

"Keep going. I'll be right back."

I watch him go and then turn back to the panel. I can't tell how much the lightness in my head has to do with him and how much has to do with these tropical temperatures. We really do need to fix the cooling system. If only so he can get that close to me again without us both boiling. I get back down to work, continuing to weld the new vent into place.

The work is hypnotic and calms me enough for my breathing to even out, but it's not quite enough to quell the fire in my belly. My mind keeps circling back to my spacer and I let it, enjoying the slight pressure that builds between my legs with each pass. All of this is so new to me. It's as if it was dampened before, muffled by my denial. But now...I never knew just wanting someone could feel so...blissful.

I shiver a little and suddenly realize he's behind me. How long has he been standing there? I don't look back immediately, enjoying the feel of his eyes on me. Instead, I finish my line with the utmost precision then lower the fuser and push the glasses up to the top of my head. Still he hasn't said a word. I roll my shoulders and reach behind me to pull my braid across my shoulder. I don't usually wear my hair down, even in a plait, but it's so late and my pins were starting to pain me.

A cool puff of air wafts across the damp skin of my back, and I shiver again. It happens a second time. It must be his breath. The thought strikes my sternum and sends a rush of wetness to a place that most definitely doesn't sweat.

I've run out of things to do and the nerves have started again. What is he waiting for?

"Han?" I call over my shoulder, keeping up my charade.

"Right here, Princess." His voice is deep and thrums through me like a drum.

I turn to find him exactly where I thought. He's leaning against the entrance, holding a cup in his hand. He's seemed to dry off a bit, but has blessedly remained shirtless. He holds out the glass to me and our fingers brush as I take it. I remember another moment like this, almost a year ago. I flinched at the contact, at how much I liked it. This time, I hold his gaze and let my hand linger.

The look is back, my look, as I secretly call it. The look he only gives to me. It makes me feel like we're the only people in the universe. Sometimes I wish we were. Is that absurd? No one ever gives me their full attention like this, whether out of deference, nerves, or disinterest. If he can make me feel like this with only a look, how could he make me feel with the rest of him?

It's getting hot again. I feel a bit of sweat trickle down my face. Han lifts his hand towards me, but stops short, turning the gesture into a "get on with it" sort of move.

"Drink up, your Worship. High Command will murder me if you get heat stroke."

I ignore the nickname and do as I'm told, mostly because water seems like the most wonderful thing in the world right now. It's cool, remarkably cool, against my lips and slides down my throat bringing sweet relief. I tip it back further and take a few more greedy sips. I think I even moan a little. Whatever I do, Han sees his moment.

Before I know what's happened, I have a splash of water across my face and my moan has turned into something between a cough and a sputter. I open my eyes to see Han's face split in a grin.

"What the-"

But he's gone, around the corner before I can finish the question. I'm torn for a moment between the good little girl who wants to finish the job she set out to do and whatever else I'm becoming under Han's tutelage. The latter wins out as I drop the fuser and and tear after him.

He isn't in the common area, but then I didn't expect him to be. Too crafty for that. I think about stopping into the galley to get some of my own water, but the desire to sniff him out is too great. Besides, I'm wet enough. I duck into the sleeping quarters, and don't see him. I even glance into the 'fresher, making sure that I look somewhat presentable. My face is flushed, but it isn't unpleasant to look at. I frown at the way my undersilk clings to my breasts, but then I feel it.

A little tug between my ribs. It's a strange, tingling sensation, not at all unpleasant, but distracting. I turn back into the sleeping quarters and it gets a little stronger. I creep out the door and into the corridor then turn left along the loop that will take me to the other end of the ship. The feeling grows, sweeping through my chest, and my face splits into a smile. He's here, I've almost found him…

And another gush of water hits me, this time coming from above my head. All I can do is laugh, since his chosen weapon feels so good against my overheated skin. I launch myself at him, wrestling the cup out of his grasp. It clatters to the floor just as he manages to get the better of me and throws me over his shoulder.

It takes me a moment to get my bearings, suddenly upside down, but I manage. He's taking me back to the center of the ship, his jaunty steps sending arcs of pleasure shooting through me from where my center is draped across his shoulder. I half-heartedly hit my fists against his thighs, but I'm enjoying this far too much to care. It's been so long since I've felt this much of him at one time. I feel almost drugged. By the time he flips me off him and onto the holo-chess table, I'm practically cross-eyed with desire.

But, of course, he's Han.

Before I know what's happening, we're engaged in a full scare war. Well, he's tickling me and I'm trying to defend myself against the onslaught. Gods, why did he have to figure this out? I try lashing out at him, kicking ineffectually, even managing to land a punch to his shoulder, but none of it does any good. We're both panting and laughing, the evil glint in his eye flaring at each of my breathless groans.

Finally, I'm exhausted, so I change my tactic. Instead of trying to get away, I wrap my legs around him, pressing all of my body to his. If I'm glued to him, he can't find my navel with those devilish hands. For a moment, he's comically flummoxed and then the mood apruptly shifts. I'm suddenly aware of a lot more than his hands. I'm suddenly aware that it's the middle of the night, I'm more aroused than I think I've ever been, and Han is too.

He's all hard planes and lean muscle, but down there, pushing against me he's…

Moving away.

His chest rises and falls as he pushes his wet hair out of his face.

We stare at each other, and I notice we're breathing in time. In..out..in..out..

He licks his lips. I realize I'm still splayed across the holo-chess table, as if waiting for him to come back where he belongs. For a flick, I think he will. His body tenses. The magnetic pull that keeps me coming back to him in life and in my dreams is almost tangible in the sweltering air. My breath gets caught in my throat and won't come out.

Another kind of tickling moves up to my larynx. I won't break this moment. I can't—

 _Cough._

He blinks and frowns just a bit.

Without a word he turns and exits the common room.

I sit up as the coughing continues. Suddenly I don't feel so good. In fact, the world is swaying a bit madly. Little spots are in front of my eyes.

He's back now, raising a glass to my lips, not in play this time.

"When was the last time you drank anything, your highness?"

I glare up at him, over the rim, silently stating the obvious.

He smirks, and I feel slightly placated.

"Recent showers don't count."

The water is making me feel better, though I still feel a weakness in my stomach and my head.

He's watching me. I wish he'd touch me again, but at least he feels no hesitation in the gazing department. He always watches me these days. Those eyes make me feel both safe as a kitten and hunted like a lioness.

"You're dehydrated," he says in his grumbly voice. "Should have been more careful."

I don't know if he's talking about me or him.

"I'll be fine," I say, into the cup.

He smiles at the warped sound of my voice. I smile into the cup, feeling giddy again.

"Why don't we pick this up tomorrow?"

He sounds about as thrilled at this prospect as I am. I want to stay with him. It seems I always want that these days. But, imagining a night spent in this oppressive heat is enough to summon a nod. He mimics my gesture and takes a breath as if steeling himself.

Reaching towards me, he gently pulls me forward off the table and deposits me on the ground in front of him. I shiver slightly. How does that keep happening when it's as hot as the nearest sun?

He reaches behind me to the left and drops a jacket around my shoulders.

"You're gonna need this," he murmurs.

He shrugs on his own shirt and I briefly mourn the loss of his bare chest. But there's always tomorrow…

We walk towards the airlock, suddenly awkward again. I wrap my arms around myself, thrilling at the feel of his jacket around me. Gods, he makes me forget who I am, what my life is. At this moment, I feel like a normal girl on some faraway planet where war is only a rumor and my biggest worry is whether or not he'll kiss me.

Will he though?

He was right about the jacket. The air in the hangar is chilling after the heat wave I just experienced. The tickling in my throat is still there, and I worry for a moment I've made myself sick. I certainly don't have time for that.

I sigh, already feeling the pull of reality, of duty.

You like duty, I remind myself.

I like Han better.

That thought keeps me silent all the way back to my corridor. Han seems equally distracted as neither of us say a word. He didn't even ask if I wanted an escort.

I'm strangely sad as I see my little door. I start to shrug off the jacket but he puts a hand out to stop me, a little lingering heat piercing the fabric.

"Keep it. You know where to find me."

It sounds like a promise or maybe an invitation.

"Thanks for the help," he says, eyes dipping down to my lips.

"I'm not sure I was much help."

He smirks, leaning forward just a bit.

"Morale booster," he mumbles.

Oh Gods.

He's going to—

I step back and hit door clumsily. I cringe as sharp pain lances up my elbow. Han steadies me, then steps back as well. I'm scared to look at him, scared he'll be as annoyed with me as I am.

But when I do, he's only smiling. Somehow, none of this seems to bother him.

Lucky man.

"Get some sleep, Princess. And drink some more water. Want you in ship shape for tomorrow."

* * *

"That's it?" Timmon sounds shocked, like I've cheated her out of a game of sabacc.

"Well, yes," I say. It seemed like a lot to me.

Shara smirks. She could really give Han a run for his money in that department.

"Classic," she says.

"What?" Timmon prompts her. She seems truly alarmed by the whole thing. I can't help but chuckle a little at this. I feel oddly calm. Like the cat who got the cream. Or at least knows where it is.

"It's the mating game. When they really like you, it takes forever."

Timmon rolls her eyes at this, flopping down on the bed. "It already has. I don't get it. He's crazy about you, you're crazy about him. Everyone on base can see it."

I have my doubts about that, but I still like the sound of it anyway. Even though I shouldn't. It isn't exactly professional. But, like so many things lately, I find my stance has relaxed just a bit. After all, we're rebels. We rebel.

"It took Kes so long to make his move, I was engaged to someone else by the time he did."

"Really?" I laugh abruptly, but then school my expression. I'm still getting to know Shara and I'm not entirely certain of her humor. She joined the cause about a month ago and has quickly become a friend. She and Timmon knew each other from pilot training though Timmon has since gone into tactics while Shara has already established herself as one of the best pilots in the fleet.

She smiles warmly at me and settles back against the wall she's leaning on.

"Oh, he was a mess. At least Han's more obvious. Kes would barely even look at me. I was pretty sure he hated my guts." She smiles fondly, remembering. "Had me all twisted because I thought he was head and shoulders above everyone else."

"Including your fiance?" Timmon puts in.

"Definitely," Shara laughs. "Not my finest hour. But, you know, love makes you crazy. Unfortunately for my fiance, it was love for another guy."

I can't imagine even kissing anyone else right now, let alone starting an entire relationship. It's only then that her word catches me. Love. I let it flit past like a night bird, not ready to deal with it.

"You could always avoid the whole sorry business by jumping his bones."

My eyes widen, and Timmon bursts out laughing.

"There's no point," she says to Shara in her lyrical soprano. "I've already tried. She's a princess, remember?"

I feel myself blush a bit, but I laugh under my breath. I still get a secret thrill when my new friends tease me. It's such a relief to be treated like a normal girl rather than some sort of icon.

"What? Princesses don't have needs?" Shara asks. The smirk has returned.

"Oh, I have needs," I fire back. "I just know how to rein them in. For the most part."

I think of last night. If he hadn't pulled away on that table, I don't think I could have done much to stop the rush of desire that was threatening to break loose.

"Well, then I guess you'll have go at his pace," Shara says thoughtfully.

I sigh. As much as making a move doesn't appeal, waiting indefinitely doesn't either.

"Unless..." Timmon pipes up, "Unless we tip the scales a bit."

Shara laughs lowly. "What'd you have in mind?"

Timmon gestures dramatically, referring to the dresses scattered about the room. My trunk finally arrived. Or rather, amazingly, turned up in the cargo hold of a ship we thought we'd lost. It only took two years and some odd months for it to make it to me. When I mentioned it to Timmon in passing she begged for a look at my royal wardrobe.

I look wistfully at the garments. I haven't seen anything like them in so long. I suppose since before the Death Star. But even when I lived on Coruscant, I rarely wore the most feminine costumes, favoring my Senatorial robes or more sober, mature outfits.

Fingering the material on the closest dress, a lavender velvet that is the softest thing I think I've ever felt, I glance skeptically up at Timmon.

"I don't think these are Han's style," I say.

Shara laughs and Timmon glares at me.

I know what she's getting at, of course.

"Timmon," I say placatingly, "these aren't appropriate for base. I'd have no occasion to wear these."

She looks avid, the way she gets when she's describing a new tracking program.

"Then let's make one!" she says, "Gods know, we could all use a little fun. Not everyone has a sexy spacer to keep things interesting." I can't help but smile at the idea of Han seeing me in one of these dresses. I can't decide if he'd think I looked stunning or ridiculous.

"That's not a bad idea," Shara says, picking up a wrap of black silk. I would never have thought she would care a lick about pretty clothes, but she seems almost as eager as Timmon. I suppose it just goes to show we're all still women, even in this dire situation. And I suppose that means people are still people.

I look at them, considering.

"It might be good for morale…" I start, not even believing that the words are coming out of my mouth.

Timmon claps her hands in delight.

"Yes! We could do it in the hangar."

"The mess," I say, my mind already racing. "We can't clear the ships out of the hangar."

"We could dance under the ships. The ones in the back are tall enough. We could string up some lights, make it really romantic…"

"This is a lot of trouble to go just so Han can see me in a dress" I grumble.

Timmon is picking through the clothes in front of her.

"Oh never mind about that," she says, a mischievous look in her eye, "I just want an excuse to borrow one of these."

* * *

When I head to the mess, my head is spinning with ideas. I know it's silly. I know I should be shutting this down, but I'm a woman too. I didn't even realize until we were talking about it how much I missed looking like one.

I tug on the uniform I'm currently wearing. It suddenly seems so drab and ill-fitting after looking through my old clothes. I haven't even tried any of them on yet. I'm sure they'll still fit. If anything, I've lost weight in the past two years. But, something is holding me back.

It's almost as if a part of my old self is buried somewhere in that trunk as well, and if I slip on a satin gown it will sneak back into me. I'm not really sure what it is, but it makes me nervous.

My heart starts skittering a bit as I walk into the mess for dinner. Underneath my jacket, I'm dressed rather skimpily in anticipation of the evening's activities. I am suddenly ravenous, not for food but for another look at him. I haven't had much of an appetite lately, not since Florn. Of course, I haven't had much of an appetite during this whole war, but somehow this is different. It isn't dread that fills my stomach every time I sit down to a meal, but anticipation. It's like a swarm of butterflies have taken up residence in my torso leaving no room for turnips.

But when I get to the mess, he is nowhere to be seen. I spot Luke chatting with a few of his Rogue friends and Timmon sitting with a few of the tactical people, but no Captain. And no co-pilot either. I swallow my disappointment and head to the line to get something to try to eat. The meal looks especially appealing today, something greenish yellow soaking into a pile of soggy grains. I think I spot some type of meat swimming in the muck, but I can't be sure.

For a moment, I long for real food more than anything else. Even Han Solo.

"A real winner, huh?"

It's Luke looking over my shoulder. I turn and give him a genuine smile.

"Top five at least."

He smiles back and drops something on my plate.

"Don't tell anyone," he whispers, "It's contraband."

I look down and am amazed to find a candy bar. It's nothing special, the kind of sweet that is ubiquitous at drug emporiums and holo-theatres, but I haven't seen one in so long. Besides the fact that sweet treats are the least of High Command's worries, all of the factories are under Imperial control, making indulging in their products a bit distasteful.

At this moment, I couldn't care less. I spot an empty table tucked into the corner and head towards it, knowing Luke will follow. The minute my tray is down, I'm tearing into the paper, and shoving a chunk of it into my mouth. It is all very undignified.

But oh…

The combination of milky chocolate and sweetly salty caramel is like heaven after months of rations. I close my eyes and groan, completely swept away by the sensation. If this is what victory tastes like, I'll keep fighting.

When I finally open my eyes, Luke has an odd expression on his face.

"Thank you," I say quickly, embarrassed by my selfish display. "I needed that."

He swallows visibly and nods, looking away for a moment.

"Welcome," he says, voice sounding a bit strained.

I want to engage in more polite conversation, but the call of the candy bar is too much. I break off another piece and have it melting on my tongue before he speaks again.

"I got one for Han too," he grimaces slightly at the statement and I wonder why, "but I haven't seen him today."

"Where did you get them?" I say around a mouth of chocolate.

He glances back at me with an easier smile, seeming to relax again.

"Imperial transport," he says, a wicked gleam in his eye that reminds me too much of our mutual friend, "Han's not the only one who can play space pirate."

I laugh at this, albeit a little uneasily. I don't like thinking of Han courting danger like that, and I certainly don't like the idea of Luke, ten years his junior and still so inexperienced, aping him.

Luke must sense my worry because he reaches a hand out to mine, the one that's resting on top of the table.

"Don't worry," he says, "it was a routine mission. The transport had gotten off course because of our signal scramblers, and we boarded her. The crew had already taken the escape pod by the time we'd gotten there."

I nod, feeling the last of the chocolate fade from my mouth. I still have half the bar left and with characteristic self-discipline, I decide to save it for later.

"You go on dangerous missions all the time," I say, reminding myself of where we are, "I just…don't like thinking about it," I finish, sheepishly. When did that happen? I would gladly give my own life for this cause, but the idea of Luke or Han or even Chewie doing so…

Luke still has a hold of my hand and he takes the other now, holding them between his. There is a light behind his eyes, and my heart sinks a bit as I realize how similar it is to the one in Han's.

"That's okay," he says, "I like that you worry about me."

"Well, I'm certainly worried," a deep, gravelly baritone says.

Both Luke and I glance up, mirroring each other in our surprise. Han is standing to my left looking down at our clasped hands. I pull my hands away, and his eyes snap up to mine for a flick. Then he's walking around the table and sitting down on Luke's other side.

"That mush they're serving looks like it's about to sprout a patch of nymphies."

Luke laughs, but I look down at my plate. Why do I feel so guilty? I give myself a mental shake and refocus on the conversation.

"Well, you're in luck," Luke says, all good humor, "I brought you something better."

He tosses a bar to Han who catches it easily. For a moment, his grim expression lightens as he examines the gift. I can't imagine it's been as long for him, but he seems pleased enough as he rips into the paper with the same eagerness I did.

"Thanks, kid," he says before downing half the bar in one bite.

Luke relays the tale of the bars with a little more swashbuckling detail than when he told it to me. I fish around my plate, trying and failing to find something at all appetizing.

At last, I give up and reach for my bar again, only to find that it's dangling from a certain spacer's fingertips.

"You gonna eat this?" he says, the devilish glint back in his eyes.

I swipe at it, not caring if I look childish. My priorities are definitely in order.

He holds it up a little higher, so I have to stand to snatch it from his fingers. The tips of them brush against mine and electrify me for a moment.

I break off another piece and pop it in my mouth. He watches my lips for a heated second.

"Did you manage the fix last night?"

Luke. Right.

I sit down and swivel back towards my friend. How is it that Han can make me forget everything and everyone else so completely?

"Not quite," I say even as Han nods and gives an affirmative, "All done."

I frown at him.

"What do you mean it's done?"

His face is unreadable as he looks first at me, then at Luke. It all happens in a flick, but I'm riveted.

"Sorry, Princess," he finally drawls, "I couldn't wait. You're not the one who has to sleep in her."

I am shocked by the level of hurt I feel at his words. It's ridiculous really. Of course he didn't want to sleep in that heat. But…

"Oh, well, good," I say, tightly, "I can really use the extra time."

Regret flashes in his eyes for moment, but he looks away.

"Figured as much," he grumbles. He clears his throat, then coughs a little.

I'm desperate for a subject change, if only to ward of the prickles behind my eyes. This is insane. It wasn't a date, it was a mechanics lesson, a routine fix. My mind races to come up with something else and before I know it—

"Timmon and I want to throw a party. A dance."

Both of the men look a back at me with interest. I studiously avoid Han's eyes and stare straight into Luke's clear blue ones.

"A dance?" he says, confused. It's obviously the last thing he thought I'd say.

"Yes," I murmur, already regretting bringing it up. "Well, it was Timmon's idea, but I think it might be good for everyone. To have a night to relax, to let loose…a little."

The optimism I felt before seems to have exited stage right. Now I just feel remarkably silly.

"Good idea," Han says, surprising me.

I look back at him before I can think the better of it. For a moment, I'm swept back in time to Yavin. I can almost feel his arms around me, his lips pressed against my cheek, his voice tickling my ear. It was how I imagined tonight might be...

"I'm glad you approve," I say with more sarcasm than I'd like.

His mouth twists a little.

"When were you thinking of throwing this shindig?"

I'm not sure why, but I feel like it's a challenge. I scan through the calendar in my head. War, war, and more war.

"A week from now," I say. "That's the summer solstice. The longest day of the year here."

"Well, I hope Chewie and I will be around. We're in talks with some Neimoidians about handling a trade route over by the Epsilon Cooridor. Could start as early as next week."

And if my mood had faltered at the news of the fix, it now plummets.

Luke is the one who pipes up, "What are you talking about?"

Han's eyes flash a bit and he reminds me of the testy man I met on the Death Star.

"I'm a free agent, kid. I go where the best offer is. It's been a bit of a dry spell for me and Chewie, in light of the whole Jabba business, but things are picking up."

He isn't looking at me, and I thank the Gods. I try to manage my expression, but it's a losing battle. At least I'm smart enough to know that.

"Then I suppose it's a good thing you fixed your ship," I say. "I have a briefing to prepare. Goodnight."

I don't look back as I escape from the room, dumping my tray of untouched gruel. I think he's looking at me, because I feel that familiar tugging sensation. But I ignore it, continuing to walk away, even though it makes me hurt just a little bit more.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm. My only profit from writing this story was awakening the force within myself! Please review, fav, or follow if it speaks to you.

Note: Part of why it took so long for me to post this story is because it stretches credulity in a lot of places. But, seriously, I thought about it off and on for months and couldn't come up with something I liked better. This is just what happened for the NWIE Han and Leia, whether we like it or not. Essentially, in my universe, ESB takes place in the middle of a fight - it isn't indicative of how they always were around each other during the two and half years between ANH and ESB. What makes the tension so thick on Hoth is that they are so desperately in love with and afraid to lose each other. I also just love the idea of Leia being 10 parsecs ahead of Han.

* * *

BLAST

The shot glances of the target ricocheting madly off to the side.

Shara makes a tsking sound.

"You're off today," she says, needlessly.

I huff and recharge, wanting to prove her wrong.

BLAST

It's even worse this time, the shot going wild, missing the target entirely.

I sigh and move to the side, giving Shara her turn.

"You want to talk about it?"

BLAST

Perfect shot.

"No," I say, glaring at the smoking hole in the forehead of our metal foe.

"Alright," she says cooly, while she recharges her own weapon.

BLAST

She gets the heart this time.

"When this war is over I'm joining a temple," I say.

"Oh yeah?" Humor sparks in her expression as she reaches for a bottle of water. "Thought you wanted to be a politician."

"I was a politician," I correct her.

"Right," she says with a shrug. "Don't you want to go back to that?"

"I want to go somewhere I never have to see another man," I grumble, lifting my gun again.

This time my shots aren't quite so pathetic, but they still don't rival Shara's precision. After my embarrassing display on Florn, I have made it a personal mission to become a better soldier. Needless to say, my aunts never approved of me receiving any formal weapons training. When I was elected to the Senate, my father secretly had me train with a self-defense expert, but the classes were basic and a long time ago now.

I've shot a few blasters since. The first thing Han ever saw me do was send a shower of laser bolts down a hall on the Death Star. He'd seemed to like that. It was the first time he ever gave me that look.

BLAST

I manage to get one straight to the crotch.

"What did he do?" Shara's voice is patient and even. I imagine this is how she talks to her little boy.

I shrug, not wanting to give into the swirl of emotions beneath the surface.

"He proved me right," I say, laying the gun on the shelf to the side of the cage and leaning against it. Shara cocks an eyebrow at me, prompting an explanation. "He's always threatened to leave the rebel cause. He's never signed on for good. And now he might really be going."

"Might?"

I frown, "Well, he said he's considering a commission. In the Epsilon corridor."

Shara shakes her head and lets out a low chuckle.

"What?" I like her, but sometimes I want to shake her. She laughs at me almost as much as Han does.

"Baby girl, what did I tell you?"

"That men are idiots," I offer.

"Well, that's true enough. I've got two of them. I should know," her eyes soften at the roundabout mention of her son, but then she snaps back to me.

"Repeat after me. Mat-ing Game," she says the words like she's saying them to Poe.

"Mating game?" I ask, incredulous. "You said that before."

"He's testing you. He may not even know he's doing it. He wants to know if you want him."

The sound of frustration that falls from my mouth borders on inhuman.

"How can he not know that I want him?" I whisper fiercely. "I think I've been pretty obvious."

Shara gives me the once over.

"But do you want him to stay with you?"

"Aren't those the same things?"

Shara sighs and looks at the gun in her hands.

"Didn't your mama ever talk to you about any of this?"

"My mother was a Queen. She didn't have much time to talk to me."

Sympathy flashes in Shara's eyes.

"I had my mama and three sisters. I was the youngest. By the time I got out there, I knew what to expect."

"And what's that?" I ask, feeling oddly shy all of the sudden. I have always been miles ahead in terms of learning and leading, but when it comes to matters of the heart, I'm at a loss.

Shara looks up at the ceiling of the cage as if in supplication.

"Come on," she says. "This isn't a conversation for a blasting cage."

We return our weapons and head back into the main base. Shara leads the way to the hanger and before I know it we are boarding her little ship. It's not an X-wing, but it's still snug inside. Once we're settled in the cockpit, both looking out into the bay, she reaches behind her and pulls out a bottle and a couple glasses.

"Keep this in here for emergencies," she says. "Only moments of privacy I get are in this ship."

She pours us both a healthy amount of something fragrant and slightly spicy. I take a sip and find it's much smoother than I would have expected.

"Bavallian schnapps. You won't find anything like it elsewhere."

We both sip in silence for a moment.

"So," she says. "there's wanting and then there's mating. Not sure what Alderaanians call it, but that's how my people put it. A man like Han has wanted a whole lot of women."

I take another sip of the schnapps, preferring the burn of the liquor to the burn of jealousy at the thought of Han with anyone else.

"But, with you, it's different. All the signs are there. He's stalking you, making sure there's no one else you want. We humans like to pretend that we're so evolved, but really, we're animals," she downs the rest of her schnapps and reaches for the bottle again.

"The one advantage of being so far from my baby is that I can be a little irresponsible," she says with a wry smile as she pours another healthy glass.

"How old is he?" I ask, starting to feel the effect of the schnapps.

"He's two, and stop trying to change the subject," she says, "We were talking about animals. Han wants to mate with you, but first he wants to know if you want him to. Because he doesn't want you for just one night, Leia. He wants to create a life with you. In both senses."

I frown. "So when you said mating game, you really meant…"

She shrugs. "It's the way my people talk about it. Makes things a lot simpler."

I stare out at the hanger, only now noticing that the Falcon is in our direct view.

"So do you want that? Because if you don't, you should probably let him go. He seems so tough, but I have a feeling that boy loves hard. We're sort of similar in that way, I think."

It's the second time she's said the word in the last two days. It makes my stomach do a little series of flips and tingles break out across my flesh.

"Yes," I say, "I think I want him to…do that."

"To do what?" Shara wheedles, sounding a bit tipsy now as well.

"To stay with me."

"Even though he's a smuggler?" her tone is teasing and serious at once.

I nod.

"Even though you're a politician?"

I nod.

"And you'll probably drive each other crazy?"

"I'm counting on that," I laugh.

The smile on Shara's face is sweeter than any I have seen from her. A flash of light reflects off her wedding ring as she pours me another glass.

"Then you gotta tell him, baby girl."

* * *

Tell him. Huh. I've tried every angle except the most direct one.

I always thought that if a man wanted you, he would move heaven and earth to get you. That's how the stories go. It's never the other way around. Maybe in some Galaxy far far away it is, but not here.

I consider myself a strong woman. Maybe not quite as strong as I seem, but stronger than most. My whole life I have been independent and free-spirited in my own way. It's just the freedom I craved came with a boatload of responsibility.

I used to lie awake at night thinking of all the things I would do for Alderaan. While other girls dreamed of princes, I dreamed of policy. Of course, as I grew older my interests expanded to a broader range. But, all my life, I was driven to be a leader, a guardian and provider to my people.

Companionship came second to that. There were nights I dreamed that it could come first, but I never truly believed that it would. My parents had been an arranged match, but they had really seemed to love each other. I never had the impression it was the passionate kind of love you read about in stories, but it was a partnership built on mutual respect and affection.

I sometimes wondered about my other parents. The ones who had given me away when I was hours old. Had they loved each other like Father and Mother? Or had theirs been a great passion that had torn them apart like the old ballads sang of?

I always wished for the latter even though it made me feel a bit guilty. There was something tragically romantic about that idea. That tragedy had torn us all asunder. So much more appealing than them taking one look at me and deciding I wasn't worth it.

Even now, at twenty-two, that thought can still make me cringe. More than ever, I wish I knew something about them. I never speak of this desire. I try my best not to indulge it, but now that I no longer have my world, my family, my purpose…I wish I remembered more than just a woman's sad face.

That's all I remember. And I'm not sure really how I do. But I see her sometimes in my dreams, tear tracks washing her face in so much sorrow and so much love.

I want Han, but sometimes I don't know if he's capable of that kind of love. He'll show me glimpses of something so much deeper, but then he always pulls away. So, it takes a rather large leap for me to imagine that what Shara says is true.

Rather than ask him in life, I ask him in my dreams.

"How much do you want me?" I ask, one night. We are tangled around each other back in the field we like to go to so often. The tall grasses sway in the wind, brushing against us like a mother's touch.

He props up his head and looks down at me.

"Where did that come from?"

"Just tell me," I say, running my hand across his neck and into his hair.

He leans down and kisses me. The attraction that flows through me at this simple touch almost overrides my circuits, but I pull away just enough.

He's looking into my eyes, a startling intensity exposed in his. It calls to something deep inside me, and I wonder if I have the same look in mine.

"I want you more than I've ever wanted anything," he says. "I want you so badly, it scares the living daylights out of me."

I can't help but smile at this. He growls and leans down to nip my neck.

"You like that, huh?"

"I don't hate it," I sigh, letting him continue his wicked magic while I try to formulate my next question. Some part of me knows this isn't real. It's hard to fathom as I process the onslaught of sensation and breathe in the fresh, clean air. It seems more real than the place we really are. But, somehow I need to ask him anyway.

"How long do you want me?"

He slows. We breathe for a little bit in time. We always do that here.

"For as long as you'll have me," he says, the words tickling against my skin.

"What if that's forever?"

The words echo through my head as I stand at the ramp to the Falcon. The days go fast here, filled to the brim with the business of war. There never seems to be enough of anything. I feel as though most of my time is spent tracking down still more rations, more weapons, more fuel. And now there's a party to plan. Somehow the pilots seem to have come up with more than enough alcohol. I suspect they squirrel it away. Though I really can't blame them.

I wish I'd found some before coming here. I've barely seen Han since the candy bar incident though I can attribute that to my own schedule as much as anything else. And maybe I've been avoiding him. Somehow I feel like the moment he looks at me, he'll know. He'll know what I want to say, and it will change everything between us.

 _That's what you want, baby girl._

It's Shara's voice, sounding like a mother's voice. After all, that's what she is. I have a slight fascination towards her child. Poe. He's two years old and I've seen him in a few holo-pics and once on a projector, laughing up at her from the floor of her father's compound. I haven't spent much time around children, but something about him makes me want to.

Maybe it's the way Shara's eyes shine when she talks about him. Or that gentle tone she uses. It seems as if the whole universe makes so much more sense to a mother. Instead of fighting for an entire civilization, an idea or a cause, she fights for one little soul. Her soul. And his.

Then suddenly I'm standing at the entrance to the Falcon thinking of Han's child. He'd be strong and tall, like his father. Maybe he'd look exactly like him. Or maybe…

I move before the thought can go any farther, suddenly compelled toward that reality. I want to find out what Han's child will be like. I want to be the mother of that child.

Some part of me has known for too long now. Han belongs to me. We belong to each other.

I suddenly don't feel so nervous anymore. I walk up the ramp and into a wave of freezing cold.

What?

Voices are filtering down the hallway.

"…ie, you big lout. If you keep pulling wires out of there, it's only going to get—" a terrific roar interrupts Han mid-sentence. I jump a little at the sound. It rattles through the hallway again, and I actually look over my shoulder to make sure there isn't a wild animal on board.

Chewie hoots and hollers in response. I manage to pick out a bit of bad language - the only words I know in Wookiee are curses - but the rest is lost on me.

"I'm - SNEEZE - fine. If you'd stop - SNEEZE - asking me we'd probably be done by now."

I can't help the insistent smile that is tugging at my lips. Han is sick. It shouldn't be funny.

I round the corner and finally find them stuffed into the same compartment Han and I occupied a couple nights ago. Well, Chewie is in the compartment, his furry rear sticking out and Han is leaning against the control panel to the right.

The smile flees from my face as quickly as it appears. He didn't sound so bad, but he looks it. His face is an odd mixture of pale and flushed. His lips are white but his cheeks are almost as red as mine at full blush. Sweat is beading on his forehead, even though he is visibly shivering.

And he should be. It's even colder now that I'm deeper into the ship. Obviously, the environmental system wasn't as fixed as Han claimed it was. Why am I surprised?

His eyes are closed, but then he starts and turns as if I've called his name.

"Leia," he says, voice sounding raspier than it did a moment ago.

I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow.

"What the Sith are you doing?"

Han opens his mouth to respond, but Chewie shouts over his shoulder. Han glares back at him. I wish I'd brought Threepio to translate. Then again…

"I'm pretty sure he said you're being an idiot."

Chewie backs out of the compartment and nods enthusiastically at me. Han now glares at both of us.

"We've got this under control, Princess. No need to worry your pretty head."

"Who's worried?" I fire back. "I just didn't get the chance to finish my training the other night. If you go to bed, like you should, Chewie can show me the rest of it."

The Wookiee looks startled at this, but quickly nods his assent.

Han looks betrayed, utterly, and the look finally revives a small smile on my face. He really does resemble a little boy sometimes.

"Even better, why don't you go to the medi—"

"No," Han says with finality. "It's a cold. I'm not dying."

I roll my eyes. "Fine, but at least get under some blankets and lie down. You look terrible."

His hand goes to his hair as if on cue, and I really have to fight the smile now. I don't think I've done a very good job because his eyes are drawn to my mouth.

Chewie says something and I have an idea.

I raise my commlink and ask for Threepio to stop by the medi-wing and bring us an anti-viral pack.

If you can't bring the Jedi to the Temple, you bring the Temple to the Jedi.

* * *

With the help of Threepio, Chewie and I have the environmental system humming in a couple hours. The temperature is still frosty, but I can already feel the warmer air starting to circulate. Though I missed the thrill of working alongside Han, I have to admit I learned a fair bit more with Chewie. Somehow my focus was a lot sharper.

I actually love that micro-fuser. I'm a little bit sorry when it's time to put it down. Besides being a great source of heat, it appeals to some unexplored side of me. I like the feeling of doing something with my hands, of building something structured and solid. It's very different than dealing in numbers and ideas and rhetoric. Immediate and satisfying on a base level.

By the time we finish, I feel grounded in a way I haven't in a long time. I don't always feel connected to my body. A floating head, my father would sometimes tease me. I do rely on my brain for most things. But now, I feel a lovely sense of soreness and adrenaline pumping through me. Maybe the adrenaline has more to do with the next item on my list.

I tried to give Han the medicine earlier, but when I crept into his sleeping quarters I found him fast asleep, burrowed under what looked to be every blanket in the room. That image had kept me company the rest of the repair session. The amount of tenderness and protectiveness I felt looking at him still startles me. Now I'm standing at his door again, armed with the anti-viral pack and a mug of hot tea. I'm determined to wake him no matter how sweet he looks.

The door whirs open and I feel a caress of nearly normal air on my face. The temperature seems to be improving more quickly in here. I quickly turn to close the door behind me so no more of the warmth escapes than necessary.

"You fixed it," mumbles a groggy voice behind me.

My heart picks up it's pace.

 _Not now, you idiot._

I turn, schooling my face to look calmer than I feel.

"Eventually. Chewie was very patient."

"Didn't take that long," he's pushing the blankets off and swinging his legs over the side. His shoes are off revealing a pair of blue socks. There's a little hole in one of them. I don't know, why but it makes my heart ache.

When my eyes find his, they are are bright. With interest or with fever I can't tell.

I approach, holding the items out in front of me like a peace offering.

He reaches for the mug of tea, his hand curling over my fingers on the handle, but glowers at the anti-viral.

"I'm not leaving until you take this," I clarify.

I try to keep my voice steady, but it's difficult. His hand is still touching mine, seemingly in no hurry to retreat. Neither of us acknowledge it, but we also don't break the contact. I start to feel warm. Warmer than I should after two hours in the freezing cold.

"And if I don't take it?" he wheedles, fingers moving infinitesimally over my colder ones.

"I guess I'll have to stay forever."

The word thrums through me and I wonder if he can feel the slight tremor where our fingers meet. His eyes flick across my form, leaving tingles wherever they land.

"Don't think the Falcon's quite up to your standards," he says.

"Beats my room on base," I shoot back.

The color rises in his face a little, and I can't help feeling gleeful. For once, he shares my handicap.

"Well, the company would get old. Just me and Chewie."

"That doesn't sound so bad. Chewie's a real gentleman."

He smiles and finally takes the mug. He takes a thoughtful sip then:

"And what about me, Princess? Didn't you say something once about my limited charms?"

I feel a pang of remorse as I remember that particular dig, but his eyes are dancing with teasing challenge. Deciding on humor, I squint at him appraisingly.

"Well, given enough time, I'm sure I could discover a few more."

He starts to laugh, but the attempt quickly morphs into a wracking cough.

I hold the medicine towards him. Still, he doesn't take it.

"I don't know..." he says, once he's caught his breath and snagged another sip from the mug. "I kinda want to take you up on your word. Forever with you would be pretty entertaining."

My heart is beating wildly even though I know he's teasing. At least, I think he's teasing.

"I'm sure you'd get sick of me," I say, feeling embarrassed somehow.

"Thinks so?" he says.

"It was supposed to be a threat," I say.

"Well, you're not very threatening, your highness."

I'm truly blushing now and my heart has jumped up into my throat.

"I'll stay either way," I fold. "But I'll be in a better mood if you take this."

He glares down at the pack, but extends his hand.

My head is spinning a little as I drop it into his grasp. How did this conversation wind up with me promising to stay rather than him?

He rips into the pack with his teeth and dumps the contents into the mug.

I decide not to worry about it as I watch him take a cringing sip.

"This stuff tastes like a—"

"It's medicine," I cut him off, "It's not supposed to taste good."

"Don't they do flavors for the kiddies?"

I shake my head, reminded yet again of his child.

"How many children do we have on this base?"

He shrugs. "Guess your right," then he raises the mug, "to forever with you, Princess."

Then he knocks back the concoction like a shot. He cringes but hands back the empty mug. I feel absurdly pleased, like I've just led a successful meeting or returned home from a mission. What is this man doing to me?

I don't want to leave as his toast replays in my head. But the medicine will hit him soon, and he'll be sleeping again. I fiddle with the mug in my hands, trying to come up with something to say.

"Don't know how you did that," he says, leaning to the side so his head rests against the wall of his sleeping enclosure.

I look up and meet his gaze.

"Did what?"

He looks away, eyes flicking to the door.

"Chewie can't ever get me to take that stuff."

I want to move towards the bed. I want to crawl in and curl up with him. It feels like the most natural urge in the world. My dreams, which I have gotten better at leaving in my sleeping chamber, sneak up on me now. My arms know just how to to hold him...

"Well, that's just silly. Why suffer through being sick if you don't have to?"

He shrugs. "I did have to. When I was younger. Didn't have any other options."

He looks back at me, and I can see the anti-viral is already taking effect. I ordered a rather strong one since he'd waited so long. And maybe, just maybe, I hoped he'd be better in time for the dance.

"On Corellia?" I say, feeling like we are in a dream. We so rarely talk like this.

"I was a pickpocket, you know," he says, eyes oddly intense.

I nod, creeping a little closer. "I know."

He frowns.

"How do you—?"

"Friedrich," I say, "That night on Lueshant. You told—"

"That guy," he menaces.

I can't help the smile even though I know it's inappropriate. "One of your favorites."

He looks confused, like he can't quite figure out what I'm getting at.

"The medicine is kicking in," I say, "It's making you a little loopy."

"I'm not…he's your favorite?"

"No," I say, realizing I've somehow ended up standing inches away from him. I'm looking down into his upturned face. "You were telling me about your childhood."

He frowns skeptically. "I was?"

I nod, willing him to continue.

"Got sick. Right after Zaar left me. She wasn't good at a lot of things, but she was pretty good when I was sick. They…weren't. Almost left me to die. Annoyed them."

I want to reach down and stroke his hair. I want to lean forward and kiss him. And for once, I'm really not sure why I don't.

"What happened?"

He leans back, lying down on his bed. It's a narrow ship bunk, so his head brushes the back wall. I can't bring myself to break our physical barrier - not when we don't have some excuse, but I do move to sit next to him. His eyes are closed, but his hand reaches out and stops when it finds my knee.

"Don't know if I should tell you this…" his voice is slurring a bit and I know my window is closing.

"Yes, you should," I urge.

"Think I'm weak. Not good enough…"

"You were a little boy," I whisper. "I want to know."

He sighs, his hand absently stroking my knee, gripping it then, releasing it.

"Had to learn how to fake it. Couldn't get sick, couldn't get tired. If you did, they'd just leave you. Or feed you to the dogs. Or give you to the Empire. If you didn't make enough money, they'd sell you as a slave. Until you got too big or too mean for them to try."

The words are coming quickly now, and I lay down next to him, my hand propping up my head. I listen and look at him, drinking in his story.

"Had to be a quick learner. Had to learn to fight. To scare people. Not to need anybody. If you made a friend, they could stab you in the back. Or they might just disappear. Too sad. Then one winter we camped next to an airfield. Almost forgot I could fly. Almost forgot my Daddy had ever showed me…"

His words start to get a little tangled, and I wish I hadn't been so enthusiastic in my drug choice.

"Fly away. I could do that…just had to steal one…had to…"

"Did you?" I whisper, "Is that where you found the Falcon?"

He frowns, shaking his head. "Didn't find her, won her."

"How did you…"

His eyes open, blinking rapidly. He turns onto his side, sees me, then settles.

"She wanted me. Won't fly for you if she doesn't want you."

His hand drifts up, and I realize it's been on my knee this whole time. He reaches toward my face but doesn't quite make it, the touch slipping along my shoulder.

"Would you fly for me, dove?"

My breath catches in my throat. His eyes are fixed on me, and he looks remarkably lucid.

"Yes," I breathe.

His hand slips around my waist and for one terrifying, amazing moment I think he might finally kiss me.

Then he rocks forward ever so slightly and falls asleep against my chest.

I lie there for a moment, stunned beyond belief. First from the contact and then from the word he's spoken.

Dove.

He's used the name so many times in my dreams, but I have never - never - heard him say it in life. I am sure of it.

A shudder goes through me as my mind circles around the thought.

I'm suddenly sucked back into a memory I have tried to bury, but never quite managed to. It pulls at me, taunting me until I can't resist it. In a moment, I am back on the Death Star.

The anticipation is the worst. I've never been tortured. I don't know what to expect. I try to be brave, try to bring my father's face to my mind. He is the person who makes me feel safest, but also the one who makes me brave. He believes in me.

But, somehow I can't see him. Every time I try his face changes, blurs. His tan skin pales, his brown eyes fade to blue, his dark hair lengthens and lightens. I am staring at another man entirely, a man who is both unfamiliar and so…close.

The door slides open, and the dark lord finally arrives. The wait is over and I can't help the immense relief I feel at that knowledge. He pauses, for an inordinately long time.

"Not many feel relief at my presence," his deep voice sounds meditative.

"Well, it's been a long wait," I say, somehow managing breeziness. I had heard of the Dark Lord's powers, but the idea of him sensing my emotions...

"Are you looking forward to our conversation?"

"There won't be any conversation," I say cooly.

"You are set on coercion then?"

I don't say anything, showing rather than telling.

"There are other ways, you know. It doesn't have to be painful."

I can feel a slight pressure in my head. I physically shy away from the sensation, but it only grows.

"If you fight me, it will be."

I don't know what's happening. It feels as if he is pushing against my forehead, squeezing my temples. I think, in a moment of complete shock, that he might be killing me. Even as I fight, I remember the stories of how he can kill a man from across a room. He's right, the more I resist, the more the pressure becomes a pain. It stings, and sears, and blackens my vision.

 _Let me in._

I don't want to, its the last thing I want, but the pain is overwhelming. I've never felt anything like it. I send a silent sorrowful apology to my father, and then I release my hold on this plane.

The images swarm out of the darkness. They are memories from my life. My father's proud face as I am sworn in at the Senate. My mother's hesitant affection, usually clouded by concern. My aunts, swarming around me, stuffing me into a dress for a ball. Then I'm younger. Waking, terrified, from a nightmare filled with lava and shouting and tears. I stare into the darkness, envisioning a woman's face, filled with so much love and so much heartbreak…

Suddenly, he's gone and I'm back. I fall forward and am only saved from hitting the floor by a set of strong, robotic arms. With a shove that almost winds me he pushes me back onto the bench, terrifyingly close.

"How did you do that?" For the first time, Vader's voice sounds almost human. His perpetual cool gravitas seems to have cracked.

I'm utterly confused. All I did was give up. I'm shocked at how close I came to the abyss.

He shakes me. And for a moment, I feel my panic superseded by sorrow. Deep, gut-wrenching, soul-sucking sorrow.

"What are you? A psychic? A dreamwalker?"

I stare at him. The sorrow recedes, and a black fury takes its place. I pull back, this time not with my body, but with some other sense I didn't even know I had.

"You shouldn't have done that, Princess."

His voice sounds dangerous now, deadly calm again. But, somehow, I know what's underneath it. I've always had an instinctual revulsion towards this man, even when he was playing nice in the Senate. Now I can feel the evil that was always lurking under the surface. It is a dark, yawning thing that seems to have the gravitational pull of a black hole.

"I had no idea what we were dealing with," he says. "Have you been hiding this all along?"

"Hiding what?" I spit at him. I feel shredded, exposed, and the blackness only makes it worse.

"Your talents…" he says, interest almost warming his tone. "I sense that they are different than mine. More subtle. Do you influence emotion? Infiltrate the subconscious?"

I'm frustrated now, pushing at his arms, wanting him as far away from me as possible.

'What are you talking about?"

"I tried," his voice is steel, "to extract information from you. Instead, you extracted it from me."

I shake my head, utterly confused. He's moving away now, heading toward the door.

"We weren't going to kill you, but now I'm afraid we must." he says, "You are much more valuable alive. However, I can't let another force user roam free."

"I'm not—I'm not anything like you."

He pauses at the door.

"You should pray that's the truth."

I hold onto Han for a long time, trembling a little as the memory replays over and over. Vader had returned an hour later with the torture device. There hadn't been any conversation then. But sometimes, in the darkest moments of a long night, I wonder if the wounds left by his words were far worse than the ones left by the pain.

Could I be influencing Han? Is there more to my dreams than I thought?

I don't want to consider it. The idea that I could be somehow controlling him makes me sick. Not just because of the moral implications, but because of who he is to me. Despite his flagrant use of my title, Han is the first man who's ever seen me as a woman rather than a Princess. I need that to be his choice, his desire...

He pulls me closer, his face burrowing into my neck. It should be strange, being this close. But it isn't. Because we have been here before, countless times in those dreams. And in this moment I really can't differentiate them from reality.

We fit even though he's a little too tall and I'm skin and bones. There's no awkwardness, no adjustments. I would think there would be, the first time two people hold each other. But, he's found one of his favorite spots as if by rote.

He breathes steadily, lips pressed against the sensitive flesh of my neck. I allow myself to be carried away by the physical. Every inhale reminds me that I'm here, that, for at least this moment, I am safe. One of his arms is around my waist and one is tucked under my head. I notice, belatedly that his leg is slung over mine.

It's hard not to know. It's hard to push away the truth. We've done this. We do this. He's acting on instinct, from memory...

I know he won't remember this tomorrow. I know I should probably pull away, but I need comfort right now just as much as he does. I'll keep this, a secret locked away in my heart along with the talent I refuse to admit and the memory of my mother's sad, sweet face.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm. My only profit from writing this story was awakening the force within myself! Please review, fav, or follow if it speaks to you.

Note: It is so interesting to me that it took me months to publish this piece. I kept thinking it wasn't right, I had to change it, Leia loved him too much, it didn't pass the Bechdel test. But, readying it for publishing now has made me like it all over again. Besides a few words here and there, this is how it came out when I was still caught in the rush of Never Will I Ever. I feel like its a metaphor for how we look at ourselves. Oh, I'd be so much better if I was this way or that way, if I had this thing or that thing, but really we are all unique and strange and lovely just the way we are. What makes fanfic and people so fun is how different our perspectives can be regarding the same thing: be it life or Star Wars. Much love, Flick.

* * *

The sound of my commlink pinging wakes me. For a moment I am completely disoriented. I'm warmer than I ever am and surrounded by the smell of engine oil, soap, and Han. My eyes snap open. We're still wrapped around each other, but at some point we've switched places. Both his arms encircle me and my face is pressed into his shoulder. It's the most wonderful thing I've ever felt.

But the pinging continues and I'm forced to weigh my options. No matter how natural this feels, the truth is it isn't. I drugged him then took advantage of the situation. I'm pretty certain Han wouldn't see it that way, but the thought is enough to push me into action.

He seems to have other ideas about that. As I slowly start to extricate myself, he makes a grumbling noise and pulls me closer. I freeze, certain that he's woken up. But when I risk a glance at his face, his eyes are still closed.

I can't help it. I just stare at him for a few moments. I don't know when I'll have the chance to be this close again, at least in my waking hours. His lashes are longer than I thought, elegantly brushing his cheek bones. That scar seems to be standing out more than it usually does. And his lips are as sensual as ever, even in sleep. The bottom one protrudes, ever so slightly.

I truly have to draw the line now. The urge to lean forward and close the distance of a few centims, is too strong.

I wriggle out of his hold almost losing it as his hand runs across the ticklish spot he discovered a few days ago. He's frowning, looking so like his waking self that it makes me smile. I finally give into the desire that pushed me away and place my lips on his forehead. He takes a deep breath then settles back against the pillow.

Gods, I—

PING PING PING

It's my commlink again, and I spring away, heart beating wildly. I turn to my jacket, and fish through the pockets, just wanting to stop the blaring noise. At least it seems blaring. I hit a button and a voice crackles through the speaker.

"Princess Leia?"

I start and look over my shoulder, feeling strangely guilty.

"Friedrich?" I whisper.

"I've been trying to reach you," he says, voice sounding a million lightyears away.

"One moment," I say, scooping up my jacket and throwing one last longing look at Han, "Let me step out."

Without pausing to think anymore, I palm open the door and slip into the corridor. I feel that tug in my middle that tells me to turn around, to snuggle back into the arms of my Captain. But, duty is calling as it always does, and I must answer.

I consider leaving the Falcon entirely, but the hangar will be loud, so I step into the common area and sink into the banquette.

"Friedrich, come in," I say, now in a more normal voice.

"Leia," he says, somehow transmitting warmth over the distance, "how wonderful to hear your voice."

I sigh. It's never a straight line with Friedrich.

"Thank you," I say and then catch myself, "It's good to hear from you too."

"Do I sound different?" he says, his Alderaanian heritage showing through the lilt of the question.

"I'm not sure what you mean," I laugh.

"Tabeera and I were married last month. We've only just arrived back from the traditional caravan around Lueshant."

"How wonderful," I say. My heart twists a little, and I'm not sure why. It certainly isn't jealousy towards an old suitor. Well, maybe it is, in a way. No matter what Shara says, I still can't imagine Han ever wanting to…

"…a gift for you," he says.

I realize I've tuned him out.

"I'm sorry, Friedrich, I was distracted by your lovely news. Can you repeat that?"

"Another…organization would like to offer its services to the Rebellion. You know of the Black Sun?"

A shiver runs through me at the name, but I can't quite place its origin.

"Is it another…family?" I leave out the word crime.

He chuckles.

"Still as innocent as ever," he chides. I bristle slightly at his patronizing tone. Has he always been this way?

"Just tell me," I say, careful to keep the waspishness out of my voice.

"They are much more…far-reaching than the Beemers. They're members are highly trained operatives that infiltrate many levels of society. Having them as an ally could be very much a game changer."

I'm listening now, pique forgotten.

"A high-ranking master has been in talks with our elders, and he has decided to follow our lead. The strides you have made, particularly the recent disruption of communication in the Outer Rim has convinced them that now is the time for action."

"I have to take this to High Command, Friedrich. Can you put us in touch with them?"

"Yes…" he sounds hesitant, "but there is one stipulation. They want to work with you. After hearing about your involvement on Lueshant, they trust that you will act with discretion. But only you."

This makes me pause. But only for a flick.

"That can be arranged" I say. "I will have to take a small team of course."

"I believe that will be permissible," he says. I hate his tone. I hate that my old friend has become part of this dark, controlling world. But, I have to put that aside and take this opportunity for my soldiers, my cause, and all of our friends and family that are gone forever.

"Right," I say, reminding myself that the end is right even though the means may be very wrong. "What happens next?"

* * *

I bring the news to High Command and they are thrilled. It's not often that I would describe any of the members of our highest rank to be really emotive, but I can feel the palpable relief spread through the room. We are stretched thin these days. The news that an influx of money and information could be coming our way is very welcome.

The next step is to make contact with the Black Sun. Friedrich said that an emissary would reach out to me in the next few days. I wish they would be less vague, but I am also secretly relieved to have a window of time. The dance is the day after tomorrow, and, for once, I am having a hard time staying focus on my Very Important Calling.

Instead my mind floats along, rifling through my salvaged wardrobe and imagining his hands on me again. I haven't seen Han since we slept together, but I feel oddly calm about it. When I worry about his possible departure I remember the way he was that night and remind myself what he said in my dreams.

"I'll stay as long as you'll have me."

He finds me in the mess going over plans for the dance floor with Timmon. One moment she's speaking intently, like we're planning the most covert of missions, and the next her eyes widen and she's jabbing me with her elbow.

"Ouch," I grumble, "I'm listening. I'm just not sure how the pilots will feel about garlands on their…"

"Hey, Princess," Han says.

I swivel on my chair, heartbeat already picking up speed.

He looks lightyears better and his voice sounds more normal, but my eyes are drawn to what he carries in his hands.

If Mon Mothma herself had told me what he'd brought, I wouldn't have believed her.

"Wanted to thank you," he says, handing me a spray of bright red lilies. They grow on this planet and are coveted for their beauty and their mystical properties, but they're hard to find. And especially in these quantities. There must be two dozen of them.

Timmon's eyes bug out even further as he puts the flowers in my hand.

"Where did you find those?" she breathes, reaching out a finger to touch one. I blink disbelievingly as the plant moves toward her finger and seems to nuzzle it.

I can hear the smile in Han's voice before I look back up at him. I'm used to his cocky swagger, but the look on his face is much more authentic this time. Pleased pride with a hint of nerves.

"Had to take the Falcon out for a test run. After we fixed the air system. These were over in the 13th quadrant," he looks at me now, "you'd like it there, Princess. Only went to Alderaan the one time, but it has the same kind of cliffs. And the water's so clear you can see twenty metims down."

I feel like my heart might burst. The flowers, the way he's talking, the look in his eye…

"Ummm, I'm gonna go ask Wedge about his ship," Timmon says in a pained tone, "but don't do anything with those flowers until I have a look at them?"

I turn back to her and see the hungry look in her eyes. Her people are botanists, very in tune with the natural world. I can tell it's driving her crazy to give us some privacy.

"I promise, Timmon," I say, "I'll give you one if you'd like."

She looks so pleased at this, that I pluck one from the bunch and hand it to her before she goes. It curls around her finger and nestles like a newborn kitten in her hand.

"On second thought," she says, staring down at it, "Wedge can wait."

In a flash, she's out of the mess and Han and I are left in the oddly quiet space. It's between meals right now, the hour I used to take coffee and cake at home. I have a cup before me, but I gave up about halfway through.

I'm not sure what to make of the gently swaying creatures in my hand, so I look at Han. His eyes are on me, and the electricity is instant.

"Thank you," I say, "I've never gotten flowers before."

He frowns, "How's that possible?"

I shrug. "I suppose people assume royals have enough of them."

"Well, did you?"

I laugh. "Probably. But none that were…like this."

I'm not sure what I mean by that statement, but he seems to appreciate it. He tilts his head and reaches a hand towards them.

A couple stretch up and kiss his finger tips. I feel an odd mixture of envy and gratitude.

"Interesting little buggers," he said, "I knew people liked them, but I didn't know they'd be alive."

"All plants are alive," I say, even though I know what he means.

"Touche," he murmurs. "You know what they're supposed to do?"

His knees are on either side of the bench and he feels very close. The only space between us is occupied by the flowers. I shake my head, sure that if I try to speak the words won't come.

"People say they make you tell the truth," he murmurs. The flowers shudder a bit as if in ecstasy.

"Is there something you want to know, Captain?"

His eyes which had drifted to the flowers snap back up to mine. I sense his hesitation.

"There's a lot of things I want to know, Princess."

"What's one?" I ask, willing it to be the one question that matters.

"Did I say anything stupid the other night?"

I laugh in spite of myself.

I want to lob a teasing insult his way, as I normally would, but I pivot. I don't know if it's the flowers or his open hazel eyes, but I smile gently.

"No," I say. "You told me a little about your time on Corellia then you fell asleep."

I do manage to leave out the fact that it was in my arms.

He frowns slightly. "And that was all?"

I hesitate, wondering if the plant really will force me to tell him. But before I can say anything, the moment is interrupted. Of course.

"Wow, those are something," Luke says We both turn and my knee knocks against Han's under the table.

I feel such a surge of irritation that I don't say anything for a moment. Han doesn't either, so the three of us are just left to stare at each other a beat too long.

Finally, I regain control over myself. I nod and look down at the swaying bunch.

"They really are, aren't they?"

"Sorry," Luke sounds a little strange. If I didn't know him better, I'd call it peevishness. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"We're in the mess, kid. It's a free Galaxy. Well," he says, eyes catching mine for a flick, "it will be."

I want to go back to the moment before. I want everyone else in this base, on this planet, to disappear. But when do I ever get what I want these days?

"Did you need something, Luke?" I sound so put out that his face clouds over.

"Just wanted to offer to help you and Timmon. Shara told me you'd be in here."

I feel a little chagrined at this.

"Thank you," I say, "We can certainly use the help."

Han starts to get up, but I put a hand out to stop him.

"We need to talk," I say. Maybe the flowers really do have some effect, because I'm finally cutting to the chase.

Han looks startled by this and glances over at Luke.

"What about?"

"A few days ago, you said you were leaving."

I can feel Luke tense beside me. I'm not sure how but I know he's coiled tight, with a strange mix of apprehension and anticipation.

Han looks at both of us, clearly uncomfortable with being put on the spot like this. Too bad.

"I said I was thinking about it," he corrects, in a clumsy dodge.

"Well, you've had time to think," I say, urging him on.

"What, when I was sick as a dog or when I was unconscious?"

"Han—" I say.

"He's not going anywhere," Luke says. "The Epsilon Cooridor has been completely shut down by an Imperial blockade."

Both Han and I turn to look at him again.

"You knew that didn't you, Han? They closed it last month."

I frown at this revelation. Does that mean—?

Han stands, breaking our contact and raking a hand through his hair.

"Last time I checked, I didn't exactly play by the rules, kid. Smuggler, remember?"

Luke looks at him skeptically.

"But you don't have a death wish," he says.

"No," Han grounds out.

I'm so confused at this point I'm not sure what to do.

Was Shara really right? Was it all just some sort of test?

There's a strange energy between the two men now. I glance up to find them measuring each other. Finally Han smiles, but the expression doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"For now, we're here. But the game's always changing."

"Yeah, what game is that?" Luke could be joking, but he isn't

"It's all a game, kid. Enjoy the flowers, Princess." With that, Han walks purposely away from the table.

I stare after Han, willing him to come back. He slows a little looking as if he's about to turn, but then he surges forward and out the door.

"He was lying, you know," Luke says.

I nod.

"Just trying to mess with our heads," Luke says. "Or maybe with your heart."

I look back at him, startled by his pointed comment.

Whatever he sees in my face makes his shoulders sag and his eyes drop to the ground.

"I'd hoped I was wrong about that one."

"Luke…" I say, wanting to comfort him, but strangely not wanting to correct him.

"Han's my friend. I care about him, Leia. But…he's…how can you? You're so…"

He's at a loss, the words trailing off as his eyes search my face in vain.

"I'm so what?"

This seems to focus him.

"You're so much better than he is. You're a princess, a senator, a leader of the rebellion. He's just—"

"Just a man," I finish. "He's just a man. And I'm just a woman. It happens everyday."

"Not everyday," Luke says, glumly.

"I'm sorry," I say. Both of us are aware of what I'm apologizing for.

Luke shrugs.

"I'm just worried about you," he lies. "He's not the kind of guy who sticks around…"

"He has so far," I say.

Luke seems to return to himself at this. "Yeah, he has. But, Leia…if you ever looked at me the way you look at him," he glances away at this and takes a deep breath, "I wouldn't even consider leaving you. And I certainly wouldn't be lying about it."

I know he's right. Luke is a good man, a hero. Han, no matter how big his hidden heart, is a little bit crooked, bruised and battered by life. Why does that make me want him all the more?

"I'll remember that," I say.

I look down at the flowers. They seem to have cocked their heads in interest. It only occurs to me then how truthful this whole conversation has been. None of it seems totally unnatural, but still…

"I always thought," Luke says, not noticing my musings, "that we had a sort of connection."

I feel his longing and his hurt. I blink. How can I feel that?

"I know what you mean," I say, even though all I want is to stop this conversation and flee the room.

He looks up at me, hope brightening his features.

"You feel it too?" he asks.

I open my mouth and close it, truly not sure how to put into words what I feel.

"It's like," he begins, "it's like sometimes I know where you are. And…I can kind of sense how you're feeling." He glances behind him. I wonder if he's thinking about my feelings for Han.

"You're Force sensitive," I murmur, "that makes sense."

He shakes his head.

"It's different. I still can't really do it with other people. I should be able to. One day, with a lot of practice, I think I will. If Ben was still here…" his voice trails off and his eyes dampen again for a beat. Then he shakes it off, reengaging. "With others, I'll pick up a little bit here and there, but with you, it's more consistent and…and sometimes I feel like you're there with me too."

I shake my head.

"It must just be your…the way you feel about me."

"Or…" his gaze is too piercing.

"I don't have the Force, Luke."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. I don't. I can't—" my heart is racing, and I start to feel my throat tighten. I'm shocked by the feeling. I had panic attacks as a little girl, but I haven't had one in years. I swallow convulsively, trying to push it away.

"It's alright, Leia. I'm sorry," Luke puts his hands out and rubs my shoulders, voice soothing and apologetic. "It was just a theory. Maybe a little bit of wishful thinking."

My hands are shaking slightly, and I can feel the stems of the flowers wrap around my wrists. They feel both comforting and confining, somewhere between a gentle touch and a pair of handcuffs. I want to tell him, can feel the words bubbling up inside. About Vader, about the dreams, about the fact that everything he says I've felt as well…

But a fear rises in me, so powerful, I feel the flowers shy away. It stiffens my spine and slams an old, familiar door closed in my mind. I'll just add this conversation to my many other secrets.

What comes out of my mouth is as much the truth as anything else.

"I wouldn't wish for that."

* * *

"Why don't you look excited?" Timmon asks, catching my eye in the mirror.

I flash her a smile, but feel the tightness in my chest. I don't know if the nerves have more to do with Han or Luke or the fact that I'm allowing Timmon to do my hair.

"I am excited," I assure her.

"She's just nervous," Shara puts in. Timmon has already worked her magic on her, creating an elegant twist with her glossy black hair. Seeing how beautiful she looks has finally allowed me to cede control over to the tiny Roh-aster. It's been years since I've had someone do my hair. It was one of my first little rebellions back in my early teens. My aunts could pick out my clothes and dress me and make me go wherever they wanted, but I was in charge of my hair.

Of course, this led to more than a few disasters, but eventually I got the hang of it. And it's served me well since the Rebellion certainly can't afford to employ a fleet of hairdressers.

Timmon has been pruning my locks for the last hour. At first she was in awe over the sheer quantity of it when released from it's perpetual weave. I think a few minutes ago, the fatigue finally set in. But, none of us seem to really mind the wait too much. Our conversation has been sparkling tonight, both deeper and sillier than it has been before. I have a feeling it has something to do with the vase of bright red lilies on my dresser.

"You have nothing to be nervous about," Timmon sings, "You are going to look so beautiful that no man, not even Han Solo, will be able to resist you."

"No man, huh? Don't want to make her that beautiful, or there won't be anyone left for you, Timmi."

Timmon laughs.

"You're right. I'll have to hold back just a bit."

I look up at Timmon's hair, dyed bright blue for the occasion. It shimmers slightly in the light. The lavender velvet she borrowed should contrast horribly with it, but somehow the picture is delightfully intriguing. "I don't think anyone will be able to ignore you tonight," I say.

She winks at me, "Well, that's the idea."

I still haven't decided what to wear. Shara tried on a couple dresses, but decided on a black sheath of her own paired with the silken wrap she was drawn to the first time we opened the box. I'm planning on giving it to her since it looks so stunning against her tan skin.

That leaves too many choices for me. I would have scoffed at this three years ago. On Coruscant, I had more dresses than I could ever need, in every color and style. I don't remember hemming and hawing back then. My mind was on bigger things. I always knew exactly which outfit would suit the occasion, and made a beeline for that. I don't remember taking much enjoyment out of the process, just business as usual.

How is it that here, in the middle of the most high-stakes, dangerous time of my life, I'm acting more the girl than I ever have? I must have tried on every dress in that box five times in the last week. I've stared at myself in the mirror, swathed in dark green and wrapped in peachy-gold, just luxuriating in the feel of my femininity. For once, my hidden insecurity is silenced.

I know that no matter what I chose, I'll look lovely. I'm certain that fire that burns behind his eyes will flare up. I'm pretty sure he'll take me in his arms and whirl me around the dance floor. I just wish that conversation in the mess hadn't happened. I was so close to letting myself go, so close to trusting him, and then that strange story came out. It doesn't sit well with me, the idea of him coming up with this imagined job just to—what?—bait me?

I've never thought of Han as anything but forthright. Well, that's not entirely true. That first year, I wondered along with everyone if he was working with the Empire. But, as time went on, I'd decided he didn't have it in him, to deceive anyone at that level for that long. He'd lose patience. And then, as I got to know him still better, I'd decided he'd consider it beneath him. He had a code, a different one than me or Luke, but one that he took very seriously.

 _Or so I thought._

A strange sensation startles me out of my musings. I look up and see one of the lilies curled around my ear and pressed against my temple.

"I'm feeling inspired," Timmon says.

She ends up leaving my hair down, but wraps it in a net of lilies. They turn out to be very easy to work with, following her hands and winding around each other in an intricate weave. It's truly stunning, and it bolsters me in a way. At least I can imagine that whatever comes out of Han's mouth tonight will be the truth.

My new hair accessory decides me, and I slip on the dark green dress. It's made out of a rare material that molds to my skin yet flows at the same time. I twirl before the mirror to show the effect to my friends. The skirt whirls out before fluttering back around my legs. The dress seems as alive as the flowers in my hair.

"He won't know what hit him," Shara grins.

I feel myself blush and my heart pound as I glance at myself one more time in the mirror. I don't think I've shown this much skin since that ceremony on Yavin IV. My arms are bare as is my décolletage. The dress cuts across my shoulders and meets in a V at my sternum. The hint of cleavage is both alluring and tasteful. I wish I had a necklace to drape across my bare neck, but unfortunately my jewelry stayed on Coruscant long after I did.

On our way out the door, I pluck one of the remaining lilies out of the vase and drape it across my neck. Just as I imagined, it loops around my throat and rests against my chest, the bud just brushing the dip above my collar.

It's the first thing that catches his eye and allows me a blissful moment to study him before his eyes meet mine. He doesn't look all that different and yet the effect makes my heart stutter. Someone has cut his hair as well. Gone are the too long locks, and in it's place is a sharp style that frames his face but still leaves enough for me to run my hands through.

If the opportunity ever arises, that is.

His jacket is dark blue and one I haven't seen before. It's as sharp as the hair, hugging his broad shoulders and framing his neck almost in mockery of a Naval uniform. The shirt he wears underneath is crisp, rather than softened with age, and his boots have been glossed to a high shine. The touches are subtle, but the intent behind them is as plain as day.

Whatever knot had been around my heart loosens as I take him in. And then his eyes meet mine. The heat in them could melt steel. It certainly melts me.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. For once, my snarky spacer is at a loss for words.

I'm struck by this scene for a moment. It reminds me of something. The planes nosing into the space, the colors of the flowers and the lights, the sound of the music. Voices laughing and feet hitting the floor as couples dance their troubles away. I'm sure I've dreamed this, or something very like it.

Han clears his throat.

"Wanna dance?"

I nod and he reaches for me, slipping his hand around my waist. I almost laugh. We aren't even on the dance floor. It's a few metims behind us. We're in the middle of the crowd, but here we are, wrapped around each other, his head resting on my hair for a moment.

His breath tickles my crown and then I feel his chest rise a little in a surprised intake.

"You've got them in your hair," he says. I feel a hand raise to touch the lilies, and the stems rustle against the nape of my neck as they reach towards him ever so slightly.

"They were too beautiful to leave in my room."

The heat between us is overwhelming. I glance to the side, trying to catch my breath and realize that he's been slowly moving us into the dancers. The music changes to something a little jauntier, and I tip back to look at him.

"You're here," I say.

He nods, eyes still looking a little dazed as they take me in.

"Why did you lie about the trade route, Han?"

A devilish twinkle shows in his eye and then he's spinning me away from him. I can't help but laugh as he spins me back to him. The dress has done it's trick, and earns me a few appreciative whistles. Han seems to like this if the cocky smile is anything to go by.

"That's quite a dress, Princess," he says, as he tucks me back into his arms.

"Don't change the subject," I reply, grinning uncontrollably at him.

"Wasn't lying," he sighs, "We did have an offer. They figured if anyone could outmaneuver the Empire, it'd be us."

"But you weren't going to do it," I press.

"Not this time, no," he admits.

"Then why did you say it?"

I push against him, wanting to look in his eyes, feeling frustration overtake me, but he doesn't yield. Instead he draws me close again so my ear is resting against his chest. I see Timmon's smiling face. She gives me a thumbs up. A little ways off Luke is dancing with a lovely Dyanne.

"You and Luke looked very cozy," he says. It almost sounds like a non-sequitur but Shara's words come back to me. _He's stalking you, making sure there's no one else you want._

One of his hands skims the lilies again while the other holds onto my waist, beating a gentle rhythm against my side.

"So, you said you were leaving?"

I feel him shrug.

"Wanted to give the kid his chance," he says, a little gruffly.

I do lean back now, glaring up at him.

"Thanks for that," I say.

He smirks.

"So, he took it?"

"Maybe," I admit. I can feel Luke's gaze on me, but decide not to respond. Instead I look up at Han, pushing past the moment we would naturally look away.

"And what did you say?" he asks, his eyes flicking to my lips then back up.

"What do you think?" I shoot back, annoyance making my voice a little arch.

He shakes his head, looking tired all of the sudden.

"I can't read your mind, Princess. If I could do that, everything would be a lot simpler."

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Don't have to be sorry. You wouldn't be—"

"That's what I told Luke."

He stops talking and stares down at me.

"You two are so close," he says.

I nod.

"He's practically been in love with you since day one,"

I wince, but nod again.

"And you said, I'm sorry?"

He's nodding with me this time, and I'm pretty sure we look ridiculous.

He lets out a long breath, then strangely, steps away from me.

"You look like a dream," he says. And then he turns me so my back is to his front. Tingles break out across my flesh as his hands run down my arms and encircle me. I know I've lived this before.

"What are you doing to me?" he whispers in my ear.

I'm shivering as I reply almost from memory. "Nothing."

Then a sound breaks through the almost mystical moment. PING PING PING

"You're killing me," he says. This time with humor rather than despair.

PING PING PING

I realize with a sinking pit in my stomach that it's my commlink.

In a daze, I hit the button with shaking fingers.

"Princess, a communication for your eyes only has just arrived from the Black Sun."

Suddenly reality comes rushing back. Han tenses against me, his hands gripping my elbows.

"The Black Sun?" he says blankly.

I am sure in this moment, absolutely sure, that there is some god up there that takes absurd pleasure in mucking up my life. The timing could not be worse.

"Yes," I sigh, beginning to pull away, back to my duties and responsibilities and—

Han is shooting forward, walking ahead of me through the dancing bodies. He snags Luke by the shirt and keeps going. It takes me a moment to register where they're headed. Oh no.

I race after them.

Once we are out of the throng and almost into the winding hallways I allow myself to call out their names. Luke hesitates, but Han pulls him along. I know there's no stopping them now as the heels that I wore for the evening are slowing my pace.

Anger and embarrassment are rising inside of me as I envision the scene that's awaiting.

When I finally make it to the room High Command uses as its headquarters, I can hear Han's voice filtering through the doorway.

"…sound like I was asking?"

"Sir, you have no right to—" the man's voice cuts off and when I round the corner I find Han holding him up by the scruff of his collar.

"Show me the damn message," he says.

The man scrambles a little then hits a button and the video rises on the projector screen above.

"Greetings, Princess," a man's heavily accented voice fills the space. His face is covered so that only his eyes show. "You have heard from Friedrich of the Beemers and now you hear from us. Encoded in this message is a map that will lead you into our mountains on Ord Mantell. There we will discuss how our two causes may benefit each other. When you have entered our territory, we will seek you out. Keep your entourage small, and arrive only on foot."

That's all there is.

"No," Han's voice rebounds off the walls of the mostly empty chamber.

Luke immediately responds, "Han…"

He whirls around and faces me. His face is a tight mask of hostility.

"Now whose the one lying, Princess?"

"Excuse me?"

"When were you planning on telling us about this?"

My mouth opens and then closes and then opens again.

"I am a member of High Command, Han. I do not have to tell you or Luke anything at all."

"Don't give me that," he says. "You didn't say anything because you knew—"

"That it would make into a madman?"

"Yeah," he spits, pacing back and forth, "I'm crazy. Crazy to care about either of you. If it isn't Luke trying to play pirate, it's you trying to be the big hero. You're both gonna get yourselves killed."

"Hey," Luke protests, "We're adults, Han. Stop acting like you're so much—"

"Older? Better? Wiser? I'm all those things, kid. I know which battles to fight and which ones to sit out. At least I did. Before you two got in here," he points viciously at his skull, "and started messing with my head."

I would laugh at the echo of Luke's words if I wasn't about to explode with indignation. I take a deep breath and will myself to keep a hold on my control if only to prove Han wrong.

"This deal with the Black Sun could change everything," I say. "They have access to information and resources that could turn the tide of the war. That could save so many lives."

"Then send a team in, by all means. But you," he takes a deep breath, "are staying here."

"Do not tell me what to do, Captain," I growl.

"You have no idea what you're dealing with, Princess. These people make the Beemers look like upstanding citizens. I've been on Ord Mantell. The things I've seen would keep you up at night."

I do laugh now. "That would probably be a good thing," I snap.

He gives me an odd look at this.

I only glare at him. Right now, it's hard for me to remember why I would ever want to dream of Han Solo.

Luke pipes up, "Leia, does it have to be you?"

"Yes," I say, evenly, "They heard about the deal I made with the Beemers, and they only trust me."

"Oh yeah? And who'd they hear that from? Your boy Friedrich?" Han's voice drips with contempt.

"I don't know," I say truthfully, "But he was the one who called me in the first place."

I see no point in shielding the truth at this point. Han's angry enough.

"Great," he says, eyes rolling toward the ceiling, "Just great."

I feel tears prickle behind my eyes. I'm familiar enough with the sensation now. And for once, I recognize that Han is the only one who elicits it. All week, I had been looking forward to this night. For a little while, it had been exactly as I imagined. Now I feel foolish standing in front of him in my pretty dress with flowers wrapped in my hair.

I almost tell him as much. But I'm afraid if I do, the words might come out broken and pathetic. Instead I go with business, cold and comfortable.

"Argue it with High Command if you like," I say, "But they will be sending me. This is a war. No one life is worth more than any other."

"Leia..." Luke's voice sounds pleading.

But it's Han who I'm looking at. His face is impassive, stoney.

"At least when I do leave, I'll never have to hear you say that again."

I nod and turn towards the door.

"Now would be a good time to go, Captain."

His bitter laugh follows me out of the hallway.

* * *

I skip the rest of the dance. I know Timmon will be disappointed, but I don't have the heart to go back. Instead I head for my room, suddenly hating the feel of the space silk against my overheated skin. The minute my door closes I shed the dress, letting it pool carelessly on the floor.

Tears are slipping down my face now. How can he be so kind one minute and so cruel another? I don't know what to do with myself. I couldn't go back to the dance, but I'm not even close to tired. Energy, misplaced and misdirected, races through my body. I feel like my skin is crawling, like I might burst and bring the whole base down with me.

Catching a glimpse of myself in my mirror, I pause before it. My skin is pearly gray in the poor light of this makeshift room. But it's smooth and curves delicately over my breasts and my hips. I take off my panties and my brassiere so I am standing naked before myself.

I close my eyes and let my mind wander where it wants to. I envision him, back on the Falcon, nice coat thrown over a chair, hair mussed, boots tromping around. He wouldn't go back to the dance either. For a moment, I'm aware of the ridiculousness of the situation. What are we doing? But then, I remember how angry I am with him.

It's strange how it makes my body sing rather than sting. I open my eyes and see that my pupils are dilated. My breath is coming in little gasps. My nipples are pointed and puckered. I touch one and feel a burst of pleasure sear through me to my sex. I swallow as this latest revelation thrums through me. I am aroused - incredibly aroused - by what just happened.

Disgust wars with desire as I contemplate what I should do with this knowledge. I can't stop seeing his flashing eyes and remembering the feel of his body against mine. I imagine the two together. I feel him behind me, arms where they were when that damned commlink went off. His eyes are locked on mine in the mirror while his hands skate across my flesh.

"You're wrong," he growls into my ear.

Both his hands come up to cup my breasts and his face burrows into my neck. He nips the skin there while his fingers tweak my nipples. I feel his hardness behind me, and gasp at the myriad of sensations. He bites a little harder. I buck against him, completely lost in the fantasy.

"You're wrong," he says again, keeping one arm wrapped around my breasts while the other hand travels down to my warm, wet center. He strokes me and I almost come apart.

"About what?" I gasp as his fingers slip inside me.

"Your life is worth more to me than anything," he says.

I writhe against him, overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside me and behind me.

"You can't think that way. We have to fight for the greater good," I moan. I want to take this further, I want to strip him and truly be taken. But, my imagination can only go so far.

He sucks on my neck and curls his fingers in a way that makes me see stars.

"I'm a pirate," he says, "not a hero."

Somehow these words send me over the edge. I orgasm powerfully, shuddering and shaking, then sinking onto the bed behind me. I look down at the floor and find a litter of lilies at my feet.

The pleasure still pulses through me as I extract my fingers from between my legs. I reach for the closest piece of fabric and start when I realize what it is I'm touching. Han's jacket. Borrowed a week ago, the night we tried to fix the enviro-system. My cheeks burn as I think of giving it back to him now, but then I'm bringing to my nose and sniffing the collar.

Gods, I love that smell.

I lay back on my pillow and bring it with me. Exhaustion steals over me and I am tremendously relieved. Tomorrow I'll be angry with him again. We'll argue and insult each other, and I'll probably get hot and bothered all over again. But for now, I'll sleep wrapped in his jacket since I can't be wrapped in his arms.

* * *

I know I should still be angry with him. He's been insufferable, embarrassing, insulting. This week couldn't have been more different than the week that proceeded it. Han pulled out all the stops in his campaign to keep me on base. He pulled High Command into it, Luke into it. Even Timmon hesitantly suggested I relent. Though Shara told him to kiss my ass.

As I knew would happen, High Command was unmovable. They are heroes, not pirates. Though they care about my safety, they care a whole lot more about the cause.

Then he had the gall to demand to pilot the mission. That made me boil. How dare he drag my name through the mud then suddenly want to be by my side? Of course, I knew I'd give in. After all, I'm almost in love with the man. But, I wasn't going to let him know that. I called him every name in the book before I let High Command overrule me.

Now here we are, after a week of briefings and preparation, about to make the jump to Ord Mantell. The supplies are packed, the crew is aboard and I can feel the Falcon humming around me.

I should just stay in the common area. Make small talk with Lieutenant …What's his name? Finch? But my body moves on its own accord, knowing that what I want is only metims away.

He's facing out to the hangar, his hands in his lap rather than readying the controls. He seems deep in thought, more still than I usually see him. My heart is in my throat for some reason. That sense, the one I work so hard to ignore, buzzes through me. I feel like I've just stepped into a flowing stream, headed out to its fated sea.

"Captain," I say interrupting my bizarre train of thought and returning to the present, "we're ready."


End file.
